


Caim

by captain_emmajones



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Daddy!Killian, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 23:43:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8422225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captain_emmajones/pseuds/captain_emmajones
Summary: caim: (n.) lit. “sanctuary”; an invisble circle of protection, drawn around the body with the hand, that reminds you that you are safe and loved, even in the darkest of times.





	

You know that place between sleeping and awake, that place where you can still remember dreaming? That’s where I’ll always love you…  
—   
Hook, Dir. Steven Spielberg 

 

It’s a habit they get into on New Year’s Eve. 

 

“Your highness, would you offer the first dance of the year to a mere dashing rapscallion?” he asks her as she watches the fireworks from their balcony. 

 

When she turns around to face him, the dim light does not allow her to catch the small smile of contentment on his lips, but she can make out confetti still lost in his tousled hair. He is wearing a white shirt, a black tie hanging loosely around his neck. 

 

“Would I?” she murmurs playfully, a smile tickling her throat. 

 

He licks his lips, takes a step towards her. Her heart pounds peacefully in her chest, seems to welcome him home. 

 

“I believe you would, Swan,” he replies, and his hand reaches for her own. 

 

His palm is incredibly warm around her reddened knuckles by the coldness of this very early morning. 

 

“You’re frozen, my love,” he notices, his brows furrowed creating a soft ligne of concern above his eyes. 

 

Her heart smiles. “Then warm me up, pirate.” 

 

He chuckles, and it is a very childlike laughter, then brings her hand to his lips and abandons there a wonderful burn. “As you wish, my love.” 

 

She’s holding her breath from anticipation as he reverently passes his arms around her waist, presses his chin to her forehead. She surprises herself by how fast her eyelids become far too heavy and she surrenders to this delectable abandon. It is soothing, to be simply held against his chest, surrounded by his scent, and him. 

 

They begin to swing, very slowly, their body heavy and magnetized to one and another. They savour the freshness floating in the air, the perfume of winter and new beginnings. 

 

The soft caress of his lips eventually find her temple. “You know, Swan, I do not have many memories of my mother -,” he begins after a few minutes, murmurs it like some disgraceful confession. 

 

It tightens her heart, the longing in his voice. He scarcely speaks of her. 

 

“- but I have this very clear image of my mother holding me in her arms.” A pause, a smile in his voice. “ How she would dance with me to celebrate the arrival of a new year.” His words comes from deep within him. 

 

She does dare to trouble his thoughts, allows him some time to recompose himself, buries instead a nose further into his neck. She presses a kiss where his pulse is palpable. 

 

“We would be on the deck of a ship, and she had the softest gaze I’ve ever seen. It was a lot like tonight: the cold, the warmth of your body against mine, how brilliantly the stars shine.” 

 

Silence. His hands tighten around her waist. She’s far too familiar with the hint of doubt in his voice: it has danced in her mouth far too many times. 

 

“I love you, Killian.” 

 

_She loved you, Killian._

 

.

 

The next year, he does not have to say a word before she passes her arm around his neck. This time, they are at their home, their naked feet dancing on the irregular wood and it feels a lot like happiness.

 

She murmurs it then, with a lot of caution and love. 

 

“You are going to be the greatest father in the seven seas.” 

 

He does not say a word, and lets go of her hands to kneel down and abandons a tender tribute of his love for her on her stomach. 

 

It is said the stars shone brighter that night. 

 

.

 

He does not come to find her the next year. She finds him. 

 

His back is facing her as she makes her way to the balcony, and she can hear his voice, a gentle whisper, his shadow cut out in the murk. 

 

“And this is how, my little love, your father found his way back to your mother long ago.” The tale ends with a kiss on the newborn’s forehead. 

 

An irrepressible smile shakes her entire being. 

 

“Hey scoundrel,” her voice rings in the dimness. It sounds a lot like she is laughing. “What are you doing with my daughter?” 

 

As he shifts to catch her eyes, his own gaze is sparkling with mischief. “Why, teaching her how to be a true pirate, of bloody course.” 

 

She loves how he looks, with their love sleeping against his hookless arm, how his hair is starting to turn a bit grey, and his eyes are surrounded by lignes of love, and how much they are screaming peacefulness and happiness. 

 

She rolls her eyes, holds back a grin. What an idiot. “My dance, scoundrel,” she reminds him, her tone coy. 

 

She watches as he cringes, seemingly an awful concern weighting on his shoulder. “Ah, but your majesty, Eliza is far prettier than you are,” and he mumbles it a bit like he is sorry. 

 

“Her name is Elizabeth, Killian,” she retorts, and rolls her eyes harder. 

 

“Bloody hell, do not listen to your mother, Eliza, for we will not let her tame our pirate selves.” 

 

(He ends up dancing with both of them, their wonder sleeping against her mother’s shoulder.) 

 

.

 

She is six years old when she asks to have a proper dance with her papa. She is wearing a pale pink dress and a wooden sword at her belt, and Elizabeth Swan knows exactly what she wants. 

 

“But my little love, you are going to hurt papa’s back,” he whines.

 

It does not seem to persuade her: she raises a blonde eyebrow, pouts, taps her tiny feet on the floor. 

 

“Mom promised I would be able to dance with you if I wore this dress.” Oh, how daring she already sounds, with her pretty blue eyes and her blonde curls. 

 

A sigh. “Fine, your highness. But just once.” 

 

(They somehow dance all night, her tiny feet above his, and if there is any happiness greater than this one, he does not want to know it.) 

 

.

 

She is lost in her thoughts when he finds her that night, one hand holding her chin as she admires the stars. He can not believe how fast she has become a woman at her turn. His princess is twenty-eight, and her face is no longer marked with the roundness of childhood, and he no longer has dark hair. 

 

“Are you alright there, little love?” 

 

She startles, her figure so similar to her mother's one, and turns around to glance at him.  
“Aye, papa.” 

 

He rolls his eyes, takes a step towards her. “Do not mock my accent, pirate.” 

 

Her eyes sparkle, and it’s hard not to see in them his mother. “Aye, papa.” 

 

“Bloody hell.” 

 

It’s all it takes her to grab her hand and surround her between his arms, a rest of childhood in her laughter echoing in his ears. 

 

“Pirate,” she mumbles, and sways with him. 

 

“Mom is worse,” they add as a single voice, and as she giggles until air won’t reach her lungs, he kisses her forehead. 

 

“It that so?” jeers a voice from behind. 

 

It’s a scary sight, his one true love, hands on hips, glaring at him like she might just throw her glass of champagne on his head. (He knows she could.) 

 

“Ah. Swan. My love. We were talking with your daughter about-” 

 

“My daughter?”, Emma repeats, frowns. “Where is she?” 

 

“What do you mean? She was h-” As he turns around, he discovers a balcony empty of any Elizabeth Swan. “Bloody hell, she’ll be the death of me.” 

 

When he shifts back to face the love of his life, she scarcely manages to keep a straight face.

 

“Just admit it Killian. You are getting old.”


End file.
